The Adventures of Bucky Barnes (UPDATED)
by MerlinOfTheShire
Summary: The many adventures of Bucky Barnes. The sad, the fun and the outright ridiculous.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot of this story.**

**A/N I posted this years ago on so I decided to repost it here and make a few improvements whilst still holding true to the old version.**

* * *

_Symbol_

_Hydra Base, 1943_

Cold. Heavy. That's all the unfamiliar appendage was to him. A piece of cold metal replacing the arm that he wasn't even sure what happened too. There had been the horrible, endless falling; wondering when he would meet the ground and cease to be. Then there was a pain. So much pain. And then finally, darkness. Those memories did not seem to have any place in what he knew. When had he fallen? All he knew about what he was was the white-coated scientists and the dark cold rooms of where he was kept. He knew pain though. He knew it well. Mostly, it was the only thing that made sense and was consistent in what he knew.

"Test your arm." It was a command. No choice was given. There was never any choice.

So he did as he was told, as he always did. The man never looked up from his clipboard. He was always writing, yet somehow always watching. He rotated the arms a few times, bending it at the elbow and squeezing his fingers. It worked just like his other arm. Only stronger. Something told him that he shouldn't be listening to the white-coated man. That he should stop obeying. He tried it once.

He wouldn't disobey again.

The white-coated man was still writing, never looking up. Resting, he lowered his arm, letting it hand heavily at his side. He caught something in its reflection. A face. Himself? He didn't recognise who he saw ...but it must be him. He knew it was him.

Why couldn't he recognise himself?

Unsure, he let his eyes wander to where metal met flesh. There were so many scars. He traced one of them absentmindedly, wondering... He caught himself too late, and with a sudden spark of fear he turned his eyes back to the white-coated man.

He was watching him. But he didn't tell him to stop.

Slowly, he let himself inspect the metal plating of the arm. There was an obvious coldness under his fingertips, yet somehow the arm could feel the softness of his skin. He traced one of the plate layers to the top of his shoulder.

He saw a flash of something. This time not in the reflections on the arm, but in his mind. It was something silver. A wing? He wasn't sure, the image already fading from his mind.

It left him with a sense of emptiness. Like he had lost something.

The white-coated man ceased his writing. "What is it?"

That was a question. He wasn't asked questions. Frowning, he tried to find a way to answer. "Something's missing," he decided.

The white-coated man remained silent for a while, writing nothing. "Missing? " he finally spoke, his face expressionless.

"…I don't know," he answered, his hand slowly leaving his shoulder. "A symbol? I don't know," he said again. "Maybe."

* * *

He was being shoved into a chair, the metal arm restrained while more white-coated man fussed over it. They had some sort of pain with them. Red. It didn't hurt, so he musnt' have angered them by asking a question, yet the closeness of all the people made him feel like the air was being ripped from his lungs. They were too close.

But he didn't dare move.

When they were finally finished he found himself being pulled to his feet before he could even properly breath again. They didn't back away, and he soon found himself being equipt with some kind of armour. Yet none of it covered the metal arm; something about not wanting it to be restricted. He looked down at it now, curious to see what they had done. There was a blood-red star there, right on the shoulder.

"You have your symbol now. Do you like it?" the same white-coated man from earlier asked.

So many questions. He wasn't asked what he liked. He wasn't supposed to like or dislike things. But he did. He didn't like the star. It was a brand. Red and aggressive. Not at all what he had seen. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Well?"

He wanted it gone. He needed it to be gone.

"Answer."

He eyes the white-coated man. He held a mask instead of the clipboard.

Lie. He should lie. Pain would come if he didn't. They would put that mask on him he said the wrong thing. And you can tell them to put it where the sun doesn't shine. Resist. He clenched his fists at his own thoughts. He would not listen to them again. "No," he said through gritted teeth.

The white-coated man expression grew dark, "no?"

His eyes grew wide. No, he hadn't meant- they were too close again, holding him down. To close. The man with the mask stepped forwards, and not a second later the mask was locked around his face. Silenced like a dog that barked too much. Was that was he was? A dog that barked too much at his master?

He wasn't sure what else he could be.

* * *

_Smithsonian, 2014_

Bucky pulled the baseball cap further down his head, hiding his face from view. Slowly, he made his way through the crowds of people. There were so many... so many people that likely knew who he was better than he knew himself. They probably knew Steve well too. How could they not, his story was on every wall, plaque and table. He was there too, the other Bucky. They Bucky that Steve seemed to think he was. Steve had been a lot shorter once. That Steve seemed ...more familiar than the other. He wasn't sure why.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed how in any picture that he or Steve were smiling, the other was with them. They had been friends. Steve still seemed to think they were friends.

And then he saw it.

On the portrait of himself. Right there on the left shoulder. A wing.

A symbol.

He gripped the fabric of his own jacket, where it should be. Not some fucking star.

Steve also had the wing, but on his helmet. It obviously meant something, but he couldn't remember what. He knew something though, but it wasn't the symbol he had needed.

It was Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot of this story.**

**A/N I posted this years ago on so I decided to repost it and make a few improvements whilst still holding true to the old version.**

* * *

Return

A year had passed since Hydra had been exposed and S.H.I.E.L.D destroyed. A year since Steve had discovered that Bucky was alive. He had been searching for him ever since. More than once had he be certain that he had seen a shimmer of metal in a darkened alleyway, or familiar brown eyes on a passing face. Every time a spark of hope would reignite in his heart, only to die when it turned out to be nothing but his own mind playing tricks.

Sam had told him that old proverb once after another failed attempt at locating Bucky. The one about how if you let something go and it comes back to you, it's yours. Basically, Sam was warning him not to push so hard that Bucky decided he wasn't worth trusting.

So, he stopped pushing and started waiting. Not giving up, but not obsessing.

But sometimes he could help but look.

That's what he was doing now. Looking. He had seen Bucky's file plenty of times, but there was always a chance he had missed something. Some clue or lead that would set the wheels in motion. He hadn't found it yet. The photo of Bucky in cryo always caused him to pause. He hated to imagine what it was like to be frozen in a box when you no longer had any purpose, only to be pulled back out decades later when some bastard had a score to settle. Steve had been frozen in time only once, and he was still trying to come to terms with it. He couldn't imagine having to do it over and over again. The thought of Bucky having to do so made him feel sick to his stomach.

The file had everything. Information about the Winter Soldier and his targets. Stories and intel on Bucky before all that. And what it took to turn Bucky into their own personal assassin. His friend had fought for almost thirty years before Hydra's efforts finally became 'fixed'. Apparently, he kept remembering, especially if a mission somehow became linked to 'The Captain.' A stray flyer or photo, a name or face. Sometimes just the colours red, white and blue. They had come with something after that. Some sort of insurance that would ensure they always had a way to control 'the asset' There wasn't anything more on it. Still, they hadn't sent him on a mission that might lead to compromisation until a year ago.

Sighing, he closed the file and placed it behind the couch cushions, laying back onto them. He would get his friend back. He knew he would.

Rain.

It was raining. He hadn't noticed until now, but he wasn't surprised that he hadn't. Rain had always been a comforting sound to him, and often fell into the back of his mind to ease away any anxiety. Bucky had never liked it though, complaining that it disturbed the peace and made him cold. He could remember countless times that Bucky had gotten caught in the rain somewhere, and instead of going home had turned up at his place with various excuses. Things like " I'm drowning out here," or simply "I don't like the rain." He had always relented, and he now held those memories close to his heart.

Memories that Bucky no longer had.

But Steve was damn well sure he was going to help him remember.

"Bucky, please come home…" he whispered, letting himself drift off to the sound of falling rain.

* * *

Sometimes I think you like getting punched.

I had him on the ropes.

Where are we going?

The future.

Steve lurched out of his sleep, sitting upright on the couch. Something had woken him. A noise?

A knocking sound suddenly filled his ears, coming from the front door. Presumably, it wasn't the first time.

Now alert and wide awake, he rose from the couch, itching to grab his shield. Who the hell-

The knocking began again, loud and more urgent.

He headed for his shield, just in case. "Give me a sec, I'm coming," he called, approaching the door from the side. It could just be Sam, but it also might not be. There were still many heads of Hydra that had gone underground. Though, he couldn't ignore the thought in the back of mind that came more from his heart. What if... It was only wishful thinking. He needed to be on guard.

He held his shield in front of his body, opening the door in one swift movement, preparing for an attack.

None came.

Lowering his shield, he let his eyes fall on the figure outside the door.

A shimmer of metal.

A pair of brown eyes.

"Bucky..." he whispered, not quite believing it.

His friend avoided his gaze, pulling at his left sleeve so it covered more of his metal arm. "I don't like the rain," he mumbled.

It had to be a dream. He was asleep on the couch somewhere and this was just his own head. He would wake up and all this would disappear.

But he had never seen Bucky look so exhausted.

He put his fears aside, trying not to let the tears in his eyes fall. "You never did," he said, voice almost breaking, "let's get you inside." He stepped aside and turned on the lights, offering up his home.

Bucky stared into his apartment, hesitating. Steve could see him shivering under the rain. It was lighter now, but Bucky had obviously gotten the worst of it, his clothes drenched.

"Its a lot warmer in there, and you can leave whenever you want," he said, offering a small smile. He didn't want to push Bucky away or make him feel trapped, but he also looked so damn cold.

* * *

He wanted to trust Steve. Everything inside him seemed to be screaming that he could, but his mind was telling him it was a trap; that if he stepped through that door he would never come out. He hadn't trusted anyone in a long time, and until recently he thought he had never trusted before. Yet, here he stood, wanting to trust to the man that he apparently already had been since childhood.

He knew Steve and he had been friends. The Smithsonian had shown him that.

And now so had his memories. They were only snippets, faded and jumpy. But they were coming back together, and they were his. Steve was in almost every one of them.

He could trust Steve. He could also sense how desperately Steve was trying to show that. Confirming his memories, stepping aside and turning on lights. Letting him know that he could come and go as he pleased even though he knew that Steve wished for him to stay. Hell, he had even removed and dropped the shield.

So, he let himself step into Steve's apartment.

Steve closed and locked the door, and Bucky couldn't help the twinge of anxiety that followed the sound of the lock clicking. He fought it down. Steve wasn't trying to trap him, he was keeping others from coming in, not leaving. Besides, he could unlock the door if he wanted to. But he supposed old habits die hard. He needed to focus on something else. Anything else.

Steve. He should focus on Steve.

"Why...?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

Steve gave him a funny look. "Why what?"

He met Steve's eyes, "why are you helping me?"

Steve smiled. A sad, broken smile. "Cause I'm with you until the end of the line."

Bucky had heard Steve say that before, that day on the craft. The day he had almost killed Steve. "I shot you," he reminded.

Steve said nothing for a momment, simply looking at him with those sad blue eyes. Seeming to decide something, Steve moved close enough to guide him to the couch. Bucky let him. Once he was settled, Steve sat down beside him. "Bucky, I want you to know I don't blame you for that. For any of it."

He frowned, confused. How could he not? He had done so much. Killed so many. He remembered that more clearly than any fragment of a broken memory. "But I did it," he argued. "I might just have been there little puppet, but I did all of it and I understood what I was doing. I'm not your Bucky, Steve. I'm not him any more ...I don't remember him. Not really."

"I know you're not, Buck. I wouldn't expect you to be," Steve said softly.

He clenched his jaw, overwhelmed. "What if I never remember who I was. What then, Steve?"

Steve smiled that gentle smile, "like I said, I'm with you until the end of the line."

I'm with you until the end of the line, pall.

Bucky frowned. Had he said that? It sounded like himself. He ...remembered. Suddenly, he sat up straight, meeting Steve's eye again. "I said that to you once, didn't I? After your mum's funeral?"

"Yeah, you did," Steve smiled, "and if you can remember that I don't think there's any reason you won't be able to remember everything else." Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "You're my best friend Buck, even if you can't remember, or you've changed. Just know that wherever you go from here, I promise I've got your back."

* * *

Steve was surprised that Bucky didn't move away when he placed his hand on his shoulder. He had expected him too, but he didn't. He was even more surprised when after his promise, Bucky moved forward and burrowed his head into his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around him. "Bucky..." he whispered, unsure.

Bucky's chest began to heave, his breath shallow, and soon Steve felt tears soak into his shirt. His heart breaking a little, Steve returned the embrace, running his hand in circles on Bucky's back. "It's okay, I've got you now," he whispered, "I've got you."

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, Bucky relaxed against him, loosening his grip on his shirt. Gently, Steve laid him down on the couch.

"You're a punk…" Bucky mumbled, almost asleep.

Steve smiled down him. "Jerk."

"How did you know where to find my apartment?" Steve asked curiously, pulling a blanket over his shoulders.

"It wasn't hard to figure out…" Bucky answered, eyes finally closing.

And even if Bucky was gone by the time morning came, Steve would happily admit that he had for once slept soundly


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot of this story**

**A/N**

**I believe that PTSD or any other form of mental illness should not be romanticised or treated as something that can be recovered from easily with a simple hug. So I would like to express how considering this is a one shot it does not capture the full story, but a glimpse :)**

**Also, this an updated version of the story I wrote in 2014, which I posted on under the same username.**

**Can be viewed as slash or just friendship.**

* * *

_Nightmare_

Sometimes Bucky wouldn't return to Steve's apartment for days, sometimes weeks, but one way or another he always wound up back on his doorstep. Or not. Sometimes he just came from the window. Steve never heard him anyway, and sometimes wouldn't see him either. He knew Steve was aware of his comings and goings, because there was always a waiting sandwich and glass of water to be found on the kitchen counter whenever he returned. Sometimes he actually did let Steve know he was there, if he intended to stay for a little longer than a few hours; he usually took the door on those occasions.

He had also started to become aware, that every time he did in fact stay, he stayed a little longer than the last.

The apartment had begun to feel safe, a base he could return to. It was almost more than that, really, but he wasn't ready to call it home.

Steve was the one that was beginning to feel like home.

So, he stayed, sometimes for as long as three or four days. Tonight would be the first time he had stayed longer than that. Something always drove him to leave. Fear, a memory, or anything really. Sometimes he just didn't want Steve to know about his nightmares. The memories that haunted his sleep. On nights when he simply couldn't bring himself to leave, he would jolt awake and muffle his own cries in his pillow, not wanting to bother or upset Steve. If he didn't leave after that, he would spend the rest of night awake. Just thinking; wondering why Steve ever would want to help him. Sometimes he just tried to figure out who he was. Was he Bucky? Which Bucky? The one from his stolen memories that Steve knew, or the one from his tormented dreams.

Maybe he was someone separate entirely.

* * *

Steve knew about Buck's nightmares.

At first, he hadn't noticed. Bucky never stayed long enough for him too. Usually, Bucky would fall asleep at his place, but by the time he woke up, Buck was already gone. Sometimes Steve didn't see him at all. Then Bucky had begun to stay a little longer, sometimes a day or two, and Steve didn't need to be a genius to notice his own symptoms mirrored on his friends face. Buck's eyes were often tired and surrounded by black rings, his face empty and void. He more often than not looked like he was still living whatever he saw in his dreams.

Yet, Bucky hadn't told him, and Steve didn't want to push, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do anything to help.

He did his best to make Bucky comfortable. He gave him the warmest room, made sure they didn't eat or drink anything that might encourage nightmares. Sam had told him about that, how certain foods and liquids could either promote or decrease your chances of having a nightmare. Sam told him a lot of things like that, and he hadn't been wrong yet. He may or may not have attempted to put a hint of lavender in the room Buck usually stayed in. Before they went to bed, Steve would try and steer some talk towards any good memories that Buck mentioned. Sometimes he just offered to go for a walk around the block, or in a park.

The nightmares still persisted, and with nothing having had any effects, he had decided that the only thing left to do was what they had always done when one of them had a nightmare. Provide whatever comfort they could.

If Bucky let him, that is.

And if he did, Steve was damn well sure that he was going to be there.

One night, when Steve saw all the signs, he had rested against Buck's bedroom door now, listening for any sound that might indicate distress.

Sometime early that morning, that sound eventually came. It couldn't have been more than a whimper, but it was enough. As calmly as he could, he had gotten up and opened the door, stepping in quietly, but not so much that it would seem like he was trying to go unheard. His eyes had landed on Bucky, who was curled up tightly on the bed, his face pressed into a pillow as he cried.

After that, Steve made sure he was listening and watching extra carefully, and always had a warm cup of tea ready to be made in case Bucky found himself stuck in a memory. For that was they were, not dreams, but memories.

Bucky was also showing that he felt more comfortable going to him after a nightmare, or sometimes just when he thought they might come. He always apologies profusely, still set on his belief that he was a bother, or upset him in some way. He did his best to reassure him otherwise.

Someone loved him.

Some nights though, the really bad ones, Bucky would wake up not knowing where he was or who he was. He would panic, and once or twice Steve had woken up with a knife to his throat before Bucky came back to himself. He never got angry at Bucky for it, but Bucky would always disappear after that, not returning for sometimes weeks. When he did, he always seemed a little far away, like he believed that he was going to be thrown out of the house or put in chains.

Those days were always the hardest for both of them, but they were growing slowly fewer and far between.

He just hoped that Bucky's nightmares would too.

* * *

Steve woke from his sleep with a panicked jolt, his whole body growing stiff. Something cold and strong was tightening around his neck. Something metal. Bucky. He forced his eyes open so he could look up his friend. His brown eyes were cold and glassy, glued on him like he was in a trance. "Bucky..." he rasped, his lungs aching from the effort. He felt like there were going to burst inside him. "Bucky please…you know me," he whispered, placing a hand on Buck's right arm. He did his best to keep calm. This had happened before; he knew what to do.

The hand around his neck neither tightened nor loosened.

"You're my mission," Bucky growled, those his eyes were beginning to focus. The hand around his neck loosened.

Almost there. "Bucky, It's okay. I'm with you buddy, just come back to me." He said the words like a mantra, looking deep into his friend's wide eyes, "come back to me."

The fog in Bucky's eyes was gone now. "Steve..." he whispered, blinking.

Steve prepared himself for he knew was about to come.

No later then he did, a look of realisation and horror overcame his friends face. Bucky let out a small cry of alarm, jerking his hand away and releasing his neck. Carefully, Steve sat upright, letting air return to his lungs. He did his best to make eye contact with his friend, who was now backed away on the floor. "Your safe Buck, you're here with me. It's alright," he whispered, trying not to let on how hard it was to speak.

Bucky shook his head, eyes wide as he backed away "No …no it's not alright, Steve. I hurt you again," he said quietly, falling back on himself against the wall.

This was new. Usually Buck would have already fled by now. Carefully, he got down onto the floor. Bucky still didn't move. "You didn't mean to Buck," he assured, "I know you didn't." He shuffled a little closer, but it was enough to make Bucky curl in on himself.

"Stay away!" Bucky warned, pressing his metal arm against his stomach, holding his right over it tightly. "I'm dangerous right now."

"Do you want to hurt me?" Steve asked gently.

Bucky bit his lip to stop it from trembling. "No. I'd never want..." Bucky trailed off, dropping his head onto his knees, a soft sniffling sound accompanying his shaking shoulders. "Please don't make me forget," he pleaded. "I'm sorry. I don't want to forget anymore, Steve."

Steve was certain he could feel his heart shattering. "Bucky..." he whispered over the lump in his throat. Wanting to comfort his friend, to reassure him that what he feared would never happen, he moved to draw closer.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Bucky roared.

"Bucky," he pleaded, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Once again he found himself looking deep into this friends eyes. "Bucky, please listen to me when I say this. I will never, never make you forget anything. If someone ever tries to, they will have me to answer too."

"You're lying!" Bucky yelled, slammed his metal fist into the ground, "just like all the others!"

Drawing a deep breath, Steve reached for a blanket from the end of the bed. He needed to calm things down. "Bucky I wouldn't lie about something like that; I wouldn't do that to you," he promised. Bucky eyes him nervously, but otherwise made no reaction, so Steve sat there for a momment, just letting them both breath. Things hadn't escalated like this before.

"Bucky is it ok if I come closer?" he asked, after a while.

Bucky looked at him carefully for a momment, before nodding.

Slowly, Steve moved closer so he could sit near his friend.

"That's what everyone said you know," Bucky whispered, after a momment, "that they wouldn't let that happen to me. Then they made me forget if I did something wrong. If I remembered something." Bucky was looking at now, a broken look in his eyes. "They hurt me so much, Steve... " He let out a strangled sob, looking away, tears falling onto the carpet.

Steve felt himself break. "Come here, Buck," he said through the lump in his throat, opening his arm in offering. Slowly, Bucky moved over to his side, breathing heavily through his tears. Steve tightened his arm around his friend, and not a momment later Bucky moved to bury his head into his chest. Gently, Steve pulled the blanket over them both, wrapping his arms around Bucky comfortingly.

"You're safe now Buck, I've got you," he ran a hand through his friend's hair comfortingly, "I always will."

Bucky's sobs subsided for a momment, "til the end of the line?"

Steve let out a small smile and rested his chin on Buck's head. "Till the end of the line," he confirmed.

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other. Do you want to talk about it?" Steve asked eventually when he felt Buck's breathing grow even.

"No, I just want to sleep," Bucky said tiredly.

He nodded, understanding. Gently, he began running his hand in circles along Bucky's back, a hand still in his hair. He knew Bucky was still associating contact with pain, so he always tried to make sure he was always gentle, and never made any sudden movements around Bucky. Sometimes his need to comfort his friend got the better of him.

Still, Bucky relaxed into his touch. "Thank you," he whispered, voice tired.

So that's how they stayed; until the first rays of sunlight shone through the window, signalling the break of dawn.

* * *

Once Bucky woke, one of Steve's arms was still around him and the blanket still draped over them. He felt Steve once again rest his chin on top of his head, pulling the blanket tighter around them. "Love you, Buck," he whispered softly.

Bucky knew Steve thought he was asleep, but he couldn't help melting into Steve's soft touch, a warm smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or it's characters, I only own the plot of this story. A/N Finally, something more light-hearted, eventually.**  
**Also, as this is a rewrite of what I wrote 2014 - ish, so its a little cheezy (I want to keep the original essence of it all) and the plot of the Marvel universe develops slightly differently to that of the movies. E.g. People will be pretty chill about Bucky as in this universe the truth of what happened to him will come to light.**

* * *

_The Frisbee Game_

Bucky finally seemed to be staying put, almost never leaving the apartment.

It was comforting to Steve at first, that Bucky finally seemed comfortable staying in the apartment for periods longer than three to four business days, but it had quickly turned into something else entirely. Within the entirety of the time that Bucky had decided to stay, had he only left the apartment on a handful of occasions, and never once by himself. Steve could understand that; he could see that Bucky feared someone would recognise him. Remeber him, even. When he was out he always made sure his bionic arm was covered; his left hand always hidden in the pocket of his hoodie.

What Steve had once hoped would give Bucky a sense of security, was now only aiding in increasing his distrust for the outside world.

Bucky was also getting bored. Very bored.

Since he refused the house to find entertainment, Steve gave him an ipod. It probably wouldnt help with the whole 'never leaving the house' situation, but he thought it might ease some of the boredom. He also bought various puzzles and games that required Bucky to make use of his incredibly fine-tuned problem solving abilities.

Fortunately, Bucky had accepted both, and a few hours later, when had gone to check in, Bucky was resting against the couch, earbuds in his ears and a puzzle on the floor. Steve had smiled at that. He had looked so relaxed, his mind, for that moment, no longer focused on all that had happened. It seemed to help with Buck's memories too, because after a few days of puzzles and music, Bucky confided that flickers of things had appeared in his mind. Images and words, disjointed but familiar. Some were of them both playing a game of cards, or dancing to old music that nobody remembered. Bucky admitted that they weren't detailed, but for the moment, they were enough.

* * *

The boredom was killing him. Steve was trying to explore 60's music with him, but if he had to listen to that 'His Latest Flame' song one more goddamn time he was going to throw something. Though, Steve's efforts to help had proved effective for a week or so, but his boredom had steadily returned. He hadn't even remembered anything for the past week. Not even a flicker. Instead, his nightmares had returned. He supposed they were memories too, but the kind he wanted to remember. Steve had spent night after night trying to help him. Deal with him. Mostly he just needed someone to stay up with him. Steve hadn't shown any sign of frustration, and if he had Bucky was sure he would have broke. Steve probably knew that too.

He was sprawled along the couch now, hair in face while he thought. That's all there was to do. Think. He blew the hair out of his face in a defeated puff. Once he hadn't been able to think at all; now he couldn't stop.

He heard Steve let out a small sigh as he approached the couch, kneeling down next to him, emanating concern. Bucky turned his head, anticipating Steve's words of protest. Any second now.

"Buck, you know you haven't gone outside in weeks. It's not good for you to keep doing this."

There they were. Right on time. The question behind the words. _What's going on and how can I help? _He rolled his eyes slightly, though his mind quickly reminded him that he had once been the one to talk like that. When Steve was the one who was always finding himself in trouble. He turned on his stomach, hiding his face from Steve. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand, Buck?"

Bucky let out a breath. Steve had probably figured it out already, like he figured everything else out about him. He just wanted to hear it from him. He sighed, turning his head slightly so he could see Steve. "I can't go outside ...it's too risky," he admitted, "I don't feel comfortable letting my self be seen."

Steve's expression softened. "Bucky, nothing will happen to you, I won't let it," Steve promised. "People know who you are, they know what happened to you." Steve rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Bucky supposed that in a sense Steve's words were true. People had seen Bucky's face enough at the Smithsonian to put the pieces together once the Winter Soldier's face was revealed. That, and the Shield files Natasha had released had also incidentally released Hydra's. People knew what had happened to him. Regardless, he had lost his mask in the middle of a busy highway for god's sake, people had seen his face in the midst of violence. Though, 'regular people' weren't exactly who he was predominantly worried about. He expected people would want revenge, but others wanted him to be their weapon. Again. If they found him, they would find Steve. Steve would be in danger. He couldn't have that.

He faced Steve completely now. "People might be watching…" He met Steve's eye, "Hydra might be watching."

"I won't let them take you."

Bucky simply shook his head, "you might not have a choice."

* * *

Steve had gone out, needing a moment to himself. The idea of hydra finding Bucky had but him ill at ease, and his mind was screaming at him to go home to watch him. He knew that if he did that, he would only make matters worse. So, he went for a supply run, distracting himself. He'd only be gone for an hour. Besides, Bucky needed some hair ties. And some eyeliner, apparently.

Eyeliner. The doom of today's shopping experience. He had been standing in the same aisle for what seemed like a century, trying to figure out what the eyeliner even looked like in packaging. He already had everything else the apartment needed, fresh food and such, and he was certain everything will have gone off by the time he got home.

"Can I help you sir?"

Steve froze; he couldn't afford to be recognised, he would be here for hours. _Or Bucky was right. _He nervously pulled the baseball cap down to cover his face. "I'm looking for eyeliner, something that smudges easily," he said, not turning to face the shop attendant.

The shopping attendant chuckling to himself, "Girlfriend send you?"

Steve kept his eyes trained on the makeup. _Why are there so many? _"It's for a friend," he answered.

"Ah, I see," the shop assistant said calmly, taking down one of the pencil looking things from the shelf. "This smudges pretty well, but tell him that I would recommend using eyeshadow, if he was looking for a more highlighted look."

"Will do. Thank you, sir," Steve hurried, before continuing his shopping, picking up a packet of brown hair ties as he did so.

He ducked his head as he passed a group of whispering teenagers, but thought better of it and offered them a small smile before heading down into an aisle that seemed to sell sportswear. Steve had an idea that he could get Bucky out of the apartment if it involved physical movement. Bucky had always jumped at the chance to do anything athletic when they were kids, with almost as much enthusiasm as he had for almost every other topic of interest.

Travelling further down the sport's aisle, he passed various types of equipment, Bats, basketballs and other things. Then he saw a pile of plastic discs. The memory of Bucky catching his shield perfectly before sending it back to him with impressive skill suddenly appeared in his mind. _That might work _He smiled to himself, selecting a dark blue Frisbee before turning and heading to the checkout. He avoided the self-service machines. He would bet his left foot that they were designed specifically to make his life a living hell.

* * *

"Bucky, I'm home!" Steve called out as he carried in all seven shopping bags in one hand, and closed the door with the other. He headed to the kitchen, dropping the bags on the counter with a heavy thunk.

Within seconds, Bucky appeared next to him and was rummaging around inside the bags. With a smile, he pulled out his eyeliner and inspected it. Shaking his head, Steve busied himself with putting the shopping supplies in their correct places. He heard the bags rummaging again. _Every time. _He turned back to Bucky, "you can't eat all that by yourself."

Bucky ignored him, carrying off a bag of crisps and other sweets. Bucky had always had a sweet tooth, and he hadn't taken long to re-discover it.

"I'm a super soldier too," Bucky protested.

Steve stared for a moment, noticing Bucky's happier attitude. It wasn't often that Bucky showed a little of his old self, before the war. Before everything. They didn't last long, even back in the 40's when they were a part of the Howling Comandos. Steve shook his head and smiled. "Fine, just don't eat them all at once."

"Hey Steve, what's this?" Bucky asked curiously, having made his way back to the bags.

Steve turned to see Bucky brandishing the frisbee he had bought. "It's a frisbee," he answered.

Bucky rolled his eyes, "I know what it is, punk. What I want to know is why you bought one?"

Steve thought carefully for a moment, choosing his words. He settled for the truth. "I was thinking about how well you can catch and throw the shield, so I thought It would be fun to go out and throw the Frisbee."

Bucky's eyes darkened slightly. "You mean you want me to go outside, don't you?"

"Well we can't exactly throw it inside," Steve chuckled. He didn't want to cause Bucky to spiral.

Bucky looked away. "I'm sorry Steve …I can't do that."

"We can cover your arm up. I'll be there, and we can even change your hair if you want," he suggested.

Bucky furrowed his brown in confusion. "Change my hair?"

Steve turned and searched inside the shopping bags. Finding them, he turned and held out the packet of hair ties to Bucky. "You would be surprised how much a ponytail will disguise a person."

Shrugging, Bucky took a hair tie from the pack and stared at it. Then, after a moment, he reached for his hair and pulled it into a messy ponytail, strands still hanging in his face. Steve could see he looked different, his jaw and cheekbones more prominent.

Bucky moved to look at his reflection in the oven door. He reached for the eyeliner, still on the bench, and making a few odd expressions he applied it. Frowning, Bucky turned his head from side to side, "I still don't want to go out."

"You sure?" Steve said, raising his eyebrow.

Bucky looked to the door, "well..."

* * *

"You have no chance, Punk!" Bucky exclaimed as he flung the Frisbee towards Steve, starting the game. Steve was going down.

"You sure about that?" Steve said, catching the disc perfectly."here I was thinking it was impossible for you to see through all that gunk on your eyes," he retorted, smirking as he threw the frisbee back with well-practised skill.

Bucky reached upwards an caught it, flicking it back easily. "I'm going to need to teach you some better insults. My eyeliner is badass."

They went on like that for an hour or two, and soon they both began to tire. His own left arm was starting to throw him off balance, weighing much more than the right. Steve was still determined and didn't ease up. Bucky tried to do the same. He refused to drop the Frisbee, all the while focussing on trying to distract Steve in any way he could.

"I'm surprised you can even handle that shield, the way you throw," he teased as he waited for the Frisbee to be thrown. In the corner of his eye he saw some passerbyers spare them a curious glance. He clenched his teeth. _Not a threat. Not a threat. Just normal, everyday people._

Steve flung the Frisbee back to him with extreme strength, sending it high above his head and into a tree that was too tall to reach. Bucky groaned. Dammit! Why did he have to go and get so distracted?

"Sorry Steve," he sighed.

Steve smirked like he had been waiting for that to happen this whole time. "Don't be," he said, "I've got a better idea. Wait here."

"Why?" Bucky asked in confusion.

"I'm going to go get something from the car, I'll be right back," Steve replied, already running back in the direction of the car a few meters away.

Bucky sighed, folding his arms as he waited for Steve to return. He's only a few meters away, he reassured himself. Nothing to worry about. He wasnt even out of sight.

Soon enough, Steve returned, shield with him.

Bucky groaned, pressing his face into his hand. "Are you serious?" he mumbled, already feeling more peering eyes on him and Steve. _God, Steve is an idiot._

'"Yep," Steve answered. "You ready?"

Bucky looked to the heavens in mock question before making some distance between them. "If you are," he answered, trying to ignore the small crowd that had formed.

"I, Steve Rogers would like to challenge you. James Buchanan Barnes to the world's greatest frisbee competition," Steve said loudly.

Nervously, Bucky's eyes flickered towards the onlookers who were staring at him curiously. He gulped, trying to ignore them. "I accept your challenge," he said with a small smirk, slowly removing his jacket so his arm wasn't restrained. He closed his eyes as small gasps sounded everywhere, all staring at the metal arm.

"Buck," Steve called, loud enough for him to hear, but still gentle.

Slowly, Bucky opened his eyes and stared directly at Steve, not daring to look away. _It's alright_, his eyes seemed to say. Bucky did his best to believe him.

"You ready, Jerk?" Steve asked after a second, getting ready to throw his shield.

Bucky smiled, bracing himself. "Yeah, punk," he answered.

And so, the greatest, most document frisbee game of all time commenced.

* * *

Tony mindlessly flicked through the T.V stations. "Come on, there has to be something, anything on," he complained, dropping the remote and leaning back against the couch. Why the hell hadn't he installed Netflix, again?

"And they're still at it! After four full hours, they are still going strong. What we are witnessing people, is probably the greatest Frisbee game of the century. Steve Rogers's vs Bucky Barnes! Who would have thought? Oh and he catches it again!"

Tony froze, bolting upwards, his eyes fixed on the TV. His jaw dropped. There, on the TV, was Stephen Grant Rogers, tossing his shield at non-other than the Winter Soldier himself. For fun! He hadn't thought the Cap even knew what fun was.

"Hey, Jarvis?" he said, not blinking.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Call the team and tell them to meet here. Tell them its a national emergency."

* * *

"I do not see the point of this game," Loki said in a bored voice, though his eyes were glued to the screen.

"Brother, they are having a game of disc throwing where one throws a disc-shaped object at the other and the first one to drop it loses," Thor answered, humouring his brother. through a mouth full of popcorn.

"Oh, its all clear now," Loki answered, his voice tinged with sarcasm, "they're idiots.

Tony rolls his eyes, looking to his friends in question, Thor specifically. "why is he here again?"

Thor shrugged, "you just have to roll with these things, Stark."

* * *

Bucky was forced to squeeze his eyes shut suddenly, rain beginning to fall on his face. In annoyance he went to rub his eyes, only to stop himself too late. Dammit, Steve had been right! The wet eyeliner smudged into his eyes. Of course, it wasn't waterproof. Maybe Steve had been planning this the whole time, the asshole, picking the most unresistant eyeliner possible to ensure he lost the game.

He could barely see, dammit.

Still, he raised his hand to catch the oncoming shield, hoping it was in the right position.

He vaguely saw it approach, and soon felt wind whip his face as it sped past.

Past his hand.

He groaned.

Steve cheered.

* * *

The tower is alive with chaos. Nat's standing on the coffee table cheering, Bruce is curled up in a ball crying over his lost bet, and Sam and Clint are making aggressive hawk and falcon noises for some reason, jumping up and down. Rhodey just looks disappointed in everyone. Tony himself tried to fist bump Loki, who looked absolutely disgusted, before becoming immediately horrified and confused when Thor hugged him excitedly.

He makes a mental note never to talk to Loki again when Thor somehow happily walks off, stabbed.

The world was a strange place indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot of this fanfic.**

**A/N**  
**Once again this is a rewrite/minor edit of what I wrote back in 2014ish. Its a little bit of a break from the serious parts of the series. Basically, this is one of the 'ridiculous' parts.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Raccoon Guy_

On mornings where Steve had a shorter mission, he would normally follow his daily routine of showering, suiting up, eating breakfast, giving Bucky a hug, and then finally leave. But today was different. Today was the day that Bucky would be joining him.

He was currently waiting patiently for Bucky to finish up in the bathroom, skimming over the mission file one last time. He couldn't help but feel nervous for Bucky, the very idea of letting Bucky near anything potentially Hydra related gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Thankfully the mission that Fury had set was more along the lines of what Shield would refer to as a 'milk run.' It was honestly just going to be a 'sit, wait and watch' sort of situation. No action.

Yet Bucky seemed to be taking an awfully long time to get ready.

Worry grew inside him as he stared at the closed bathroom door. Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, tossing the file on the couch. Bucky never took this long to get ready in the mornings; normally he was very scheduled and went about his morning in a sort of routine. Steve often had trouble convincing him to sleep-in or eat something other than cereal for breakfast.

Bucky would have none of it.

Slowly, Steve knocked on the door. "Buck? What's taking you so long? If you don't feel-," Steve said loudly, but not threatening.

"Just a minute,," Bucky called from within, his voice carrying a slightly frustrated tone.

Steve let a breath of relief escape him, shaking his head. "Buck, I know your under-cover gear is a little more intricate than mine, but we really have to go."

No response.

"Bucky?" he called, stepping closer to the door. Still, no response could be heard from behind the door. Steve felt himself starting to get worried. Sensing this, Brook started barking at the door.

Steve couldn't take the silence any longer, so he gave in and slowly pushed the bathroom door open, Brook pushing past him. "Bucky, are you ok-"

He couldn't believe his eyes.

There, right in front of him, he could see Bucky in the mirror apply what looked like about a third coat of eyeliner around his eyes.

"Hang on a sec, I'm almost done," Bucky said finally, making an odd face as he raised his right hand up to his left eye and rubbed then repeated with the other. He stared at his own reflections eyes intently.

Steve gaped. "Bucky, what the hell are you doing? And why do you look like a racoon?"

Bucky gave him a somewhat hurt expression as he applied one last coat of eyeliner.

"It's part of my disguise," Bucky said, as if this would clear up any confusion.

All anxiety now well and trully gone, Steve could only laugh. "Bucky that's the opposite of a disguise, and if I were you I would work on a better one. That's Natasha's eyeliner and she is going to kill you when she finds you."

"It's not that bad," Bucky mumbled.

He shook his head, snorting. "Bucky, you look like you went to bed for a week with a full face of makeup," he paused, a wicked smile coming across his face. "You know what, your new nickname is Racoon Guy."

Bucky frowned, rolling his eyes. "You're never going to let this go are you?"

"Nope," Steve replied as he struggled to contain his laughter.

He failed miserably, and soon found himself doubled over, wheezing like he was once again asthmatic.

Bucky too succumbed to the contagion of laughter, so much in fact that he began crying, causing his eyeliner to run down his cheeks. Naturally, this only made them laugh harder, all the while Brook was spinning around excitedly, not quite sure what had made her owners so idiotic.

And when Natasha finally ended up driving over to find out why the hell they hadn't shown up, well, let's just say that she never forgave and she never forgot.


End file.
